


Beck's Wake

by DelusionsbyBonnie



Category: Battle for London in the Air (Roleplay)
Genre: Beck is a drama llama even in death, F/M, Immortal Illuminati AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie
Summary: When an IIA member dies, the contents of their personal storage room are auctioned off.  No one was going to argue with Cordelia French's right to burn the contents of the late Lord Beck's.
Relationships: Cordelia French/Andrew O'Rourke
Kudos: 4





	Beck's Wake

Cordelia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, surveying the dull metal door before her. The key clutched in her hand had warmed to the temperature of her skin, but the edges were still sharp enough to be uncomfortable. Andrew patted her shoulder gently, and she flashed him a quick smile before stepping forward and slotting the key into the lock.

The storage rooms in the basement of IIA headquarters were well-kept on the outside, but the interior of each room was a reflection of the key-holder. Beck’s unit was no exception; if anything, it was like a theatrical set of the man’s soul. The lights flickered on, and Andrew jumped.

“Jayzus, is that a wolf?”

Cordelia leaned forward, bringing her nose-to-nose with the dusty piece of taxidermy. “I believe it was, certainly. Good heavens, I think it’s older than I am.”

Andrew made a face. “Put it out of its misery, then.” He dragged the mounted wolf out of the room and heaved it onto the cart. “How many trips d’you think we’ll have to make?”

“Too many.” Cordelia pulled on a pair of sturdy gloves and pulled the dropcloth off a tall bookshelf. “Oh good lord, this is all poetry. Byron, Byron, Shelley, Keats, oh, that’s an Alastair Crowley, Poe-- that’s my Shakespeare!” She yanked the book off the shelf indignantly and shoved it into Andrew’s hands. “This we keep.”

\---

Several sweaty hours later, the room was empty and the sun was low. Cordelia untied a bundle of letters from its red satin ribbon and tore them into strips before striking a match and sitting back against Andrew’s shoulder. He handed her a beer and watched the flames climb up the pile of books and journals. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today--”

She punched his shoulder. “Stop that!”

“Sorry.” He grinned and tapped his bottle’s neck against hers.

They sat and watched the bonfire grow. “When’re they coming?” Andrew asked quietly.

Cordelia stretched her legs out and checked her wristwatch. “Soon. Oh, no, who’s that?”

“Irving! Glad you could come.” Andrew stood, grinning, to shake the doctor’s hand, then crouched to scratch the accompanying corgi’s head. “And this little buddy!”

Cordelia’s smile was tired but genuine. “Irving.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Irving replied politely. “That… is a large pile of books.”

“At least half of them are his journals,” Cordelia grimaced. “His handwriting is atrocious, so his secrets were fairly safe as it was, but…”

Andrew clapped Irving on the back and handed him a small pasteboard box. “Let’s get the party started, then!”

“Is this… are these tarot cards?”

“Sure, and he had a collection of ‘em! Twenty-seven was it we found, Cori?”

“Twenty-nine. There were two more in with the… pictures.”

Andrew shuddered theatrically. “Call me a selfish man, but I’m glad it wasn’t me what found them. Oi, Rebecca!”

The fire crackled and grew with the crowd of IIA members. Dr Jhandir’s inquest had overshadowed Beck’s funeral, a quick and quiet affair, businesslike and perfunctory more than sentimental, but the bonfire had all the emotions that the funeral had lacked. Dr Jhandir himself was the last to arrive, keeping to the edges of the company.

“Doc. Didn’t know if you’d come.” Andrew offered the man a beer, but the doctor waved it away.

“Given a choice, I wouldn’t have missed it.” His dark eyes glittered in the firelight, watching the sparks shoot up as a stuffed raven hit the top of the pile.

“They decided you could stay in the field?”

“Despite your brother’s protests, yes.”

Andrew popped off the bottlecap and took a swig. “Ah, sure. You know him.”

“Unfortunately,” Dr Jhandir muttered.

“Oh, no, that’s not the to-burn pile!” Cordelia’s voice cut across the chatter. “Does anyone else play violin? This one is too nice to destroy. Oh, Linus, you do? Here you are then, enjoy.”

“You gonna burn anything?” Andrew asked. Dr Jhandir shook his head, looking a little more self-satisfied than was appropriate. Andrew nodded and rejoined his wife, plucking a heart-shaped frame from the pile. “Byron again, for Chrissake!” he declared, tossing the framed lock of hair into the blaze.

Cordelia shook her head. “Two weeks in boarding school,” she muttered, emptying a drawerful of calligraphy pens.

The bonfire ebbed as people began to head home. The wire skeletons of the wolf and an owl were visible through the ashes now, and a breeze gently scattered the remains of a printed page. Andrew brushed a scrap from Cordelia’s forehead, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“I’m tired, Andrew.”

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” 

He scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “We should put the fire out first,” she said reluctantly.

“It’s nearly out. ‘S probably fine.”

“Andrew, I’m not listening to your brother when you accidentally burn headquarters down.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, setting her down gently and dumping a bucket of water over the coals. The water boiled up into gray steam, hissing and spitting and eventually subsiding into a pile of soaked charcoal. “Rest in peace, you wag-tailed bastard.”

“Mm. Amen.” Cordelia pulled her husband into a kiss.


End file.
